


The Changing of the Guardian

by PseudoLeigha



Series: Mary Potter Shorts/Background [7]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Apparently I am a Pettigrew apologist?, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Fidelius Charms, First War with Voldemort, Just to be clear., Marauder dynamics, Right?, The ampersand means non-sexual relationship, Things Harry Potter Doesn't Know, Things you never knew about yourself..., This is not an orgy, jily
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 13:51:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7174364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PseudoLeigha/pseuds/PseudoLeigha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yet more Marauders-era Background for Mary Potter. This one was written in anticipation of a few more pointed questions during the confrontation with Sirius at the end of book 3. Apparently I am a Pettigrew apologist? The things you never knew about yourself… </p><p>Also: Fidelius Charm Details (ch.3) - please read and critique!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Problem with the Fidelius Charm

There was muttering outside of Lily’s study.

Whispering.

A grown man’s nervous chuckling.

The sound of Marauders who had bad news.

She crept to the door, throwing it open just as James raised his hand to knock.

“Lily-flower! We were just coming to talk to you about something!” he said brightly.

Sirius, holding the baby (who looked fine, so it couldn’t be about her), snorted.

“What’s wrong?” she asked flatly, somewhat displeased to have been interrupted in her translation of the most recent batch of books from the Potter Vaults. The ritual she had been working on would need some reconstruction, a little filling in of blanks, but it seemed promising, as a last fail-safe, if nothing else.

“Nothing’s wrong. Why would something be wrong?” her husband asked, quite possibly rhetorically.

She grinned and answered anyway, leaning on the door-post. “Oh, I don’t know, just a feeling. What did you want to talk about?”

“We should sit,” Sirius said, sounding uncharacteristically serious.

“Well, then,” she made a gesture down the hall toward the living room. “Lead the way.”

They took their places rather awkwardly, the two of them on the sofa, leaving her in an armchair. Honestly, sometimes it was like James and _Sirius_ were the married pair out of the three of them. She wondered if James knew the impression they were giving, of sides taken preemptively for the conversation ahead. Quite possibly not. He was a very straightforward man. Sirius almost certainly did. No matter how much he hated his parents, he had grown up in a Slytherin family, where such power-plays were as common as breathing.

She raised an eyebrow, waiting for them to say whatever was so important it required sitting.

Somewhat to her surprise, it was Sirius who spoke. “It’s about the Fidelius.”

“What about it? You haven’t written down the secret and then lost it or something stupid, have you?” she asked, her mind immediately leaping to the worst possible scenario.

“No! No! God, no, nothing like that! Well, kind of like that, but not yet, anyway.”

“Will one of you _please_ explain what’s going on?”

“Pads was almost killed by one of the Yaxleys in that skirmish a couple of weeks ago,” James said, as though this explained anything. It kind of did.

“Sirius Orion Black, you son of a bitch! You’re supposed to be keeping your head down! Half the Order knows! What if one of them is the spy? If you die, the Secret will be out!”

“I _know!_ I know! Bloody hell, woman! That’s why I’m here.”

“Explain!”

“I – I can’t stay in hiding. I’ve tried – I’ve stayed in the safehouses these last three weeks, only done the minimum for the aurors, not got into any fights – not on purpose at least – but Lily, people are dying!”

“I know that, _you utter moron_!” she hissed viciously. Did he really think she was unaware? She, who had been a healer on the front lines, and then in the safehouses, before all this ‘you must go into hiding to protect your child’ rubbish? “Suck it up! If I can do it, you can too!”

“ _Lily…_ ” James sighed. They had argued more than once over the best way to keep Mary safe. James would have been happy to stay behind their wards forever, but Lily thought that their best chance was to fight, in the hopes of ending it all sooner, rather than later. So far she had caved to James’ insistence that the two of them, good as they were, would make little difference to the fighting overall, and had focused on finding wards and protections to place upon Mary. Once she was satisfied that her daughter would be sufficiently protected in her absence, she _would_ return to the fight, regardless of what her husband might have to say on the matter.

“I can’t, Lily,” Sirius said, looking her straight in the eye. “You’re in hiding to protect Mary. I can’t hide just to save my own skin when everyone else I know and care about is out there risking theirs.”

“You’re _supposed_ to be in hiding to protect Mary too! And James and me,” she added as an afterthought. She and James could, at least to some extent, protect themselves.

“I know I – it’s driving me nuts, Lily! I can’t do it! I thought I could, but I can’t! It shouldn’t be me! We – I – I need you to break the Fidelius. Re-cast it on someone else, someone who could hide, who isn’t a target, whom no one would suspect…”

“We thought Peter would do it,” James said, “You know he’s been mostly looking after his mum, anyway. He never was a fighter…”

Lily stared at the two very-earnest-looking men across from her on the sofa, and silently thought curses at Dumbledore for convincing them to use the damn Fidelius in the first place.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but she hadn’t realized until after they cast it that when it was placed on a residence, it prevented any other house wards from functioning properly, and placing a Secret Keeper under a Vow of Secrecy was contraindicated. She hated having all their eggs in one basket, even one so blindly loyal to James as Sirius. The fact that Sirius would _literally_ kill himself before he let anything happen to James or Mary was the _only_ reason she hadn’t insisted that they move somewhere else when she realized the flaws of the spell (it was one of the less mutable rules of magic that there was always a price, whether an outright cost or in the potential for failure). Well, that and she didn’t have anywhere better for them to go.

And now, _now_ , he was having second thoughts? _Damn it!_

If Sirius wouldn’t or _couldn’t_ be their Secret Keeper, she would rather not use the Fidelius at all. But it was too late _now_. Placing the Charm on the house ( _“The Potter Family resides at Potter Cottage in Godric’s Hollow”_ ) had not only removed knowledge of its existence from the minds of anyone who knew of it, but had also scrambled the wards the Potters had laid down on the Cottage over centuries. It had taken her _months_ to disentangle them, strategically breaking or neutralizing them and rendering the house safe for habitation. It would take _years_ to repair the damage. She wondered briefly if Alice would mind if they simply moved back into the Longbottom manor for the duration, but discarded that option almost immediately: three months of Augusta Longbottom had been more than enough for one lifetime, and now that His Moldiness knew who he was looking for, even the Longbottom wards might not be enough, not long term.

No, the only alternative would be to re-cast the Fidelius, as the boys were suggesting, though probably out of loyalty and faith in their friend, rather than because they knew how impossible it would be to do anything else. But really? Peter? “Why not Alice?” she asked. “She’s Mary’s godmother, and the Longbottom wards have to be better than wherever Pettigrew and his mum are holed up.” It was best not spoken of that Alice owed Lily a life-debt on behalf of Frank. Her loyalty would be assured, if only because of that, but bringing it up would only end in shouting.

It seemed the boys had already considered and rejected her, though. “Alice and Frank are targets just as much as we are,” James reminded her.

“Peter’s been living in the muggle world,” Sirius explained. “Ever since Mrs. P’s magic finally went. It’s easier for her, not having to see it all around when she can’t use it, you know? We figured anonymity would be almost as good as proper wards.”

“Plus,” James added, “Pete’s an animagus, too. If he is attacked, he can just vanish.” That was… true enough, Lily supposed. She had been suspicious when she first discovered that the fourth Marauder’s ‘spirit animal’ was a rat, but her research into the matter had revealed more positive traits associated with the creature than she had expected, including intelligence, survival in adversity, and, quite surprisingly, loyal, _pack_ behavior. It was no wonder he got on well with the stag, the dog, and the wolf.

“Not Remus?” Remus was Lily’s favorite Marauder (sometimes even including James). She felt a certain sort of kinship with the werewolf. Perhaps it was because he had been her fellow prefect, or perhaps because they had spent more time in the library together than she had spent with any of the others _anywhere_ until they had graduated, but if she had to choose the Marauder least likely to betray _her_ (not counting James), it would be Remus. After all, he was a werewolf – he could _smell_ a lie – and (unlike Sirius) he had never once tried to reveal any of her double-talk or deceptions or her ongoing friendship with Severus in their sixth and seventh years.

The boys shifted uncomfortably before James said, “The missions Dumbledore has him on don’t really count as lying low.”

Lily glared at them. “You think he’s the spy!”

“No!” Sirius denied it too quickly. “Moony would… he would never.”

“Of course not,” James agreed, but there were shadows in their eyes.

“He’s not!” she insisted hotly. Remus would die before he betrayed the three wizards who knew about his affliction and still treated him like a human being, and it damn well pissed her off to see them doubt that.

“We’re getting off-topic, Lils,” James said defensively. “It’s got to be Peter. He’s the best choice.”

“ _Fine_ ,” she spat bitterly, grumbling under her breath about how much she hated the _fucking_ Fidelius Charm. “You two talk to Peter and get me a proper copy of Dumbledore’s notes on the Fidelius, give me a week or so to learn the spell, and we can do it whenever all three of you are free after that.” It went without saying that she, trapped here, would be available at any time. She had abandoned her Healer’s Apprenticeship to go into hiding and Dumbledore was insisting that she was most valuable to the Order guarding her daughter, much to her aggravation.

“Thank you,” Sirius said, his sincerity almost painful to hear. “Thank you, Lily – I – just, thanks.”

James just reached over and squeezed her hand tightly. “It’s going to be okay, Lils.”

She sighed, and gritted her teeth against telling him, yet again, that she couldn’t shake the vague but overwhelming sense that it _wasn’t_. Everything about this – hiding here – was _wrong_. It didn’t make sense, she couldn’t make a reasonable argument for leaving, and she had no valid alternative to offer; she just _knew_ that what they were doing was _doomed to fail_. She kissed Mary’s sleeping forehead gently before excusing herself back to her study to finish up that translation. The nursery and the crib were enchanted to stave off the apocalypse (and woe betide anyone who tried to hurt Mary there), but she couldn’t confine the child to one room at all times. The sooner she found a charm or ritual or ward to protect her baby girl from harm wherever she went, the happier she would be.


	2. The Rock and the Hard Place

“No, James, Siri, you don’t know what you’re asking…”

“You have to do it, Pete!” James begged. “There’s no one else.”

“It’s true, mate – I can’t do it,” Sirius admitted, hanging his head in shame. “I thought I could, but… it’s driving me mad, Pete. I can feel myself losing my fucking grip.”

“So you want me, your _last choice_ , to take it over?” He tried acting offended. Maybe, just maybe, they would buy it, just leave.

“Please, Pete, I’m begging you, here. I’m useless, sitting around in the safehouses waiting to hear who else has died. I’m a fighter – I’ve got nothing else going for me, mate. You – you’d still be able to do your work, with the enchanting and the potions, and take care of your mum. No one would have to know we changed it – it’s just – if I die, I can’t risk it that one of the people we’ve already told is the spy. Mary, she’d be dead before anyone even knew what happened, like Camp Seven.”

 _But_ I’m _the spy!_ Peter thought, trying to muster up the courage to admit it – to keep his friends from forcing him into the worst possible position, directly between them and the Dark Lord.

“Peter, we need you. And it’s not because you’re our last choice. We told Lily you’re the only one for the job. She suggested Alice, and Remus, but we trust _you_. If anyone can keep us safe, you can,” James wheedled.

He couldn’t do it. Telling them would only get him killed – like Regulus – by his own side. He had managed to tell the Death Eaters only the most trivial information so far – he was sure he hadn’t given away anything that could be used too badly against them, only enough that the Dark Lord and that crazy bitch Lestrange believed he was fully (albeit reluctantly) on their side. Sooner or later, he would gather enough information on the Death Eaters to bring back to Dumbledore, to admit the hole he’d managed to dig himself into, to beg for help, to escape. But not yet. Now – he had nothing. Less than nothing. He looked like a dirty traitor – the Spy they had labeled him. Throwing himself on his friends’ mercy… he would never make it to Dumbledore. He would be _lucky_ if James and Sirius just killed him. If they told Lily, he was sure her mother’s instincts would see him fed to an acromantula before he could explain himself.

“All you’d have to do is write out a couple of notes with the secret, we’ll show them to anyone who needs to know – just tell them we had to renew the Charm, or we wanted to tighten up security or something – no one would have to know you were the Keeper. It’ll look like nothing’s changed – everyone who’d care will still be coming after me, not you, like… like a decoy. It’s perfect, really. Just say you’ll do it.” Sirius turned begging eyes on him, in the way that invariably reminded Peter of Reggie – vulnerable and desperate for… affection? Approval? Some indefinable thing that only _Peter_ could give him, anyway, but so very reluctant to admit it.

“Siri…”

“You can do this, Peter. We wouldn’t ask if we didn’t think you could,” James attempted to bolster his confidence.

On the one hand, this was very irritating, since James had no idea how difficult this decision actually was – he must think Peter a yellow little prat, even hesitating to leap to his friends’ aid. On the other, even the empty words of encouragement (James didn’t even know the half of it, and what if Peter _couldn’t_ do it?) _were_ slightly encouraging. When James Potter believed in you, it was easier to believe in yourself – a strange but undeniable fact Peter had come to realize over the course of seven years’ living together.

Peter took a deep and steadying breath. Maybe he could. The Dark Lord wanted the Potters, but if Peter did like Sirius suggested, never mentioned to anyone, for _any_ reason, that anything had changed, just kept doing what he had been, walking that line he’d once wished he’d never have to, then maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be impossible. He knew better, now, than to underestimate the Death Eaters – he had been young and stupid, thinking he could outwit them, in the beginning, letting them drag him in and trying to salvage the situation as he could, and only getting pulled in deeper – but James and Sirius were right, despite their ignorance. It was nothing more than he had already been doing for months and months.

In for a sickle, in for a galleon. He could do it. He could keep them safe. He _would_ do it.

It wasn’t like he really had any other choice.

“Alright, I’m in.”


	3. Reviewing the Technicalities

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I really want everyone’s opinions on the specs for the Fidelius – this is the basis for how it is used in Mary Potter, the exact sequence of events for Halloween 1981, and the immediate aftermath. If you see any loopholes, or any inconsistencies with what we see in canon, please let me know in a review! Thanks!]

Sirius must have been in earnest about wanting to get back to the fight, because he somehow managed to sweet-talk the actual _development_ notes on the Fidelius out of Dumbledore, in a matter of hours, before the boys went to see Peter.

As Lily felt in hindsight that she ought to have been able to guess, the spell had been re-discovered (more than half re-invented), surprisingly recently, by one of Xeno Lovegood’s relatives. The idea of reviving a thousand-year-old loyalty-based secret-keeping spell which protected against mind magics and coerced release of the secret had an indefinably _Lovegood_ sort of academic ambition to it.

She _also_ should have realized that for a spell with the kind of range and permeation the Fidelius boasted – the kind of spell that controlled _universal access to knowledge_ (not only its movement, but the ability to register its very _existence_ ) and the related facts of having had or lost said knowledge – the cost, in potential weaknesses or upfront sacrifice, would be steep, and possibly greater than she was willing to bear. Dumbledore had been characteristically close-mouthed about its limitations before they had cast it the first time, but she should have known what he’d told them was too good to be true.

Looking at it all laid out before her she felt a bit sick.

She skimmed over the historical discussion, and how the spell was classified and why. It was light in every way: being in the domain of the Light Powers (Choice and Order), opposed to a Dark Power (Wisdom/Deception); taking its cost in the form of a fatal flaw instead of sacrifice; and hinging on a Noble Virtue – Fidelity. Dumbledore didn’t hold with the Powers, but he would have approved of the cost and the honorability requirement.

The truly horrifying part was the description of what the spell _did_ :

**_The Charm is used to conceal a Secret inside the Soul of the Secret Keeper, only to be divulged by said Person willingly and of their own Volition. Neither invasive Mind Arts nor Potioning nor Torturous Delusion nor any other physical or mental Weakness may elicit the Secret from an unwilling Keeper. It is possible, however, that the Keeper may be Tricked, or the Secret offered up as a Sacrifice to stay Death or Pain on behalf of the Keeper – if his Loyalty is suborned or insufficient in the face of his Fear for himself, the Secret is vulnerable. Should he keep Faith, the Secret is unassailable._ **

**_As the Name implies, the Fidelius Charm is intended for the keeping of another Person’s Secret from outside Parties. As such, the Secret may not pertain to the Secret Keeper directly. Conversely, a Secret cannot be Kept from one to whom it directly pertains. For example, if the Secret is ‘Thaumophilius Lovegood is a philosopher,’ I would still be aware of my Occupation, even if the Secret Keeper never saw fit to inform me of that Fact…_ **

She had pieced together much of it from the Camp Seven Massacre and the promises Dumbledore had made – but he had _conveniently_ left out that the Secret Keeper could be tricked, and when he’d said that the spell was proof against torture, she had thought he meant that if the Secret Keeper were tortured, he _could not_ reveal the secret to his assailants and their associates. That it only protected against accidentally leaking it when the pain had driven one into madness was absurd. The spell had clearly _never_ been intended for use in a war.

**_A Secret Keeper must be capable of expressing the Secret, so that they may, and indeed must, continuously choose not to do so. A Secret Keeper must be capable of understanding the Secret, for that which one does not understand and accept fully in its every Aspect will corrupt the strongest of Souls. A Secret Keeper must embrace the Secret – a Secret cannot be forced upon one, for such would be a violation of the Soul of the Secret Keeper, and render it unsuitable for this Task. And of course the Secret Keeper’s Soul must be whole and unsullied by impure Motive. _ **

**_The Secret Keeper may reveal Knowledge of the Secret at their Discretion, but those to whom the Secret is revealed (or to whom it pertains, or the Caster) may not. Should the Secret Keeper die, all of those to whom he has told the Secret and who fit the necessary Requirements of the Secret Keeper must shoulder the burden of this Responsibility; Should there be no suitable Keepers among those who have learned of the Secret, the Charm will break entirely, releasing the Knowledge from Safekeeping with the final Release of the Keeper’s Soul..._ **

It was only mildly reassuring to see that if Sirius had died, and the Spy knew the secret, he would not have been able to pass it on: such a breach of security would still create nearly two-dozen new Secret Keepers who _could_ be tricked into revealing the Potters’ location. They still had to renew it, or change their defenses entirely, which she didn’t think she could manage at this point, or move somewhere else, and none of the other options (just the Longbottoms’ place, really – none of their other friends had good enough wards, and the Safehouses, despite Camp Seven, had been placed under Fidelius themselves after the fall of Safehouse 4, and were even less secure than the Cottage, with more people in and out) held any appeal.

**_A Secret is a heavy Burden for a Soul – only one Secret may be kept by any Secret Keeper at one Time, lest they risk a Fate worse than Death._ **

Did that, she wondered, mean that if one was already a Secret Keeper, but privy to another secret whose Keeper died, that one would _not_ become a Secret Keeper, or that the sudden addition of the second secret would shred one’s soul? An interesting theoretical question, she decided, for another time.

**_The Secret should be simple – it must be understood by its Keeper. It may be communicated by written Word, Deed, Speech, Mind Arts or any other Method between the Keeper and those who are trusted by the Keeper, and between those who already know of it. It may not be communicated even accidentally or in poor Faith by those who know of it but are not the Secret Keeper to anyone outside of the Secret. _ **

**_The Secret should be chosen carefully, with much Thought given as to the intended Effects of the Spell – if it is too specific, the Truth of the Matter which one wishes to conceal may not be fully bound – the Edges of it will be visible to those who know how to ask the right questions; if it is too general, much Knowledge not intended to be bound may be caught up in the Spell, causing undue Strain for the Caster and the Secret Keeper, as well as immense Difficulties for those outside of it..._ **

Lily shuddered to think what vulnerabilities might be discovered and exploited by someone who knew the exact parameters of the spell and the secret that hid them from their enemies – being inside it herself, she wasn’t even fully aware of how it appeared to outsiders. What hints might remain to be exploited by a cunning snake? Did the entire house appear to have vanished? Or only every indication of their living there? Or of _who_ lived there? She had no idea – she would have to ask someone, after they re-cast the Charm.

Finally she found the sections she needed:

**_The Casting of the Charm requires substantial Power in order to affect Knowledge and its Movement on a universal level, on the order of thousands of Thaums, the exact Strength required being dependent on the Secret itself, its Complexity, and its Persistence throughout Time and Space. This Power may come from the Caster directly, in the unlikely Event that he should have it to Hand, or from external Sources including Powersharing as with Coven Ritual Magics, Geomantic Tapping, or Sacrificial Invocation._ **

**_The Channeling of such Power requires mental Strength or Determination, the likes of which is found only in Sorcerers and Mages. This Requirement may, like that of magical Power, be overcome through ritual Linking and Distribution of the mental Strain between multiple Wizards or even greater Numbers of Warlocks._ **

**_Finally, the Casting of the Charm requires of Focus or Control on the part of the Caster of the highest degree – it should not be attempted by one with less than mastery-levels of Control, for the Caster is said to experience the Whole of the Knowledge to be contained, to comprehend in the moment of Completion the Shape and the Movement of the Knowledge in Space and Time – thus the Concern for excessive Generality creating undue Strain for the Caster. For this Reason as well, the Secret is known to the Caster, though he is, like those taken into Confidence, not able to share it._ **

**_The Breaking of the Charm is substantially easier, requiring a great deal of Control, but very little Power (only on the order of tens of Thaums, well within the range of any Wizard) and therefore little Determination: Knowledge yearns to be Free, and thus is far easier to Release than to Contain – the Difficulty lies in delaying the Release such that the Process does not damage the Soul of the Secret Keeper as it tears itself loose…_ **

Well that was a terrifying thought. She looked through the casting instructions – spells and prescribed wand-motions (detailed step by painfully explicitly detailed step). For the casting, it was Classical Latin, a chant, its natural rhythm flowing like epic poetry, and a complicated net described with the wand; for the breaking, lilting, teasing Greek, and a jazzy bit of advice, to ‘conduct and separate soul and secret as directed by Magic and the soul of the Keeper.’ It seemed that for the breaking of the Charm, the will of the Keeper was as important as that of the Caster – a tricky proposition to work with.

It did not escape her notice that the process would be incredibly dangerous at every step of the way, particularly for Sirius, but everything she needed to break and re-cast the spell was there. She shrugged the tension out of her shoulders. It wouldn’t be the first time his life was in her hands. The only real question was whether she should tell him.

She set to work verifying the arithmancy behind the casting of the spell and its counter, wondering whether a week had been an overly optimistic estimate.


	4. The Point of No Return

Sirius knelt on the floor before Lily, head bowed, torn between being grateful that she was doing this for him, and hating the fact that he was kneeling before _Evans_ as a supplicant. She had taken him aside, days ago, and warned him of the dangers, making him read through old Thaumo Lovegood’s (very thorough) description of the spell and the risks of breaking it. They had had a long talk about the nature of the Soul and what he thought it was (and what Dumbledore had thought, and insisted upon for the purposes of the spell when it was initially cast) – it was essential, she said, that their conception of it be the same, at least for this. And eventually she had looked him in the eye and asked, “Are you sure?”

He was. It had to be done – he couldn’t stand holding himself back any longer – and whatever else she might be, Evans was damn good at Old Magic. He didn’t know anyone he trusted more to be fiddling around with his soul. Even Dumbledore, learned and powerful though he was, didn’t have the kind of connection Evans did with Magic – it wasn’t every witch who could call on the Powers with impunity or do what she had done for Frank, and he respected that, even if he still didn’t like her.

Magic began to rise around him, warm and soft, like the opposite of standing at the center of a blizzard, and he lost track of time and the world around him, caught up in a soft, familiar voice whispering babbling Greek. The voice teased him to follow it, not far, just a bit more, just _here_ ; exhorted him to _relax_ , singing of safety and release; asked him what he wanted, and he gave the only response he could, willing the secret away from himself. He could give it up, here, with no worries for James and Mary’s safety, or fears of recrimination or shame. It was not a betrayal, in the presence of those to whom the secret belonged, and with their blessing, to let it go, returning to the universe with what he could only call a sort of joy.

It left him slowly, a lingering sort of drawn-out farewell to its once-prison, and in that moment, he knew light and dark as purely human constructions – there was nothing ‘evil’ about the way Wisdom smiled upon him as he returned its impact to the tiny fragment of information he had hoarded away. When it was finally gone, he could feel the shape of it, expanding through time and space and the whole of perception, seeing the ripples its release set into motion. If he had had eyes, he might have cried for the beauty of it all.

When the ripples died away, he became aware, again, of the voice whispering to him gently, leading him, again, this time to safety and familiarity, to a place he recognized as _his_. He settled into it gladly, with as much joy as the secret had had in returning to _its_ proper place, and then… he gasped, and opened his eyes, to see James staring at him worriedly, and Peter watching Evans with something like awe on his face, and Evans herself grinning elatedly, for once without any sort of pretense.

“Alright, Pads?” James asked, pulling him to his feet.

Sirius grinned and hugged him close. “More than,” he whispered gruffly, tears pricking at his eyes, though he couldn’t have said why.

* * *

From the outside, the breaking of the Fidelius was less of an experience, but far more disturbing. The first step was to call forth the Secret Keeper’s soul from his body – a necessary precaution, lest the Keeper’s own magic fight against the intrusion of the Caster’s at such a deep level as the secret was released. The goal was not to break the connection between soul and body, but just to convince it to stretch a bit, teasing and tempting with short, flashy wandwork that seemed appropriate to the intent behind the words, made up in the moment. Lily found it unsettling that it was not more difficult to sing a soul from its body – surely the Killing Curse was more difficult than this? But in short order, a misty glow, swirling with reds and blues so deep they were almost black, rose off of the kneeling Sirius, coalescing a short way away, his body frozen reflexively in place, with a dead-eyed, dementor-kissed look.

When Lily reached the part of the counter-charm calling upon Sirius’ will to release the secret (her own slowing the process, forcing the secret to _flow_ , rather than _burst_ free of its bonds), it rose as darkness to the surface of the mass of soul-stuff before sublimating away, like a memory, dissipating into the air (or magic, or aether) around them. It was far easier than the description had suggested it would be, to separate the two.

The last part of the spell was all long, slow, guiding wand movements, and exhortations for the soul to return to its body, which Sirius’ did, thankfully, without hesitation, the now-brighter red-blue, somehow-not-quite-purple of his soul sinking into his skin as though it was never gone. The man gasped, suddenly, and, no longer frozen in his penitent’s pose, fell to his hands and knees before opening his eyes and sitting back again, looking around briefly in wonder before fixing his eyes on James. Lily smiled to herself.

She knew, of course, that Sirius disliked her, and that most of his dislike stemmed from jealousy over the fact that James loved her. Sirius’ own love for James was obnoxiously clear – she couldn’t understand how no one else seemed to see it. But then, perhaps they were just accustomed to it. In Lily’s opinion, it was a damn shame James didn’t like men, because he and Sirius would have been _perfect_ for each other. She and James were friends, the sex was good, and she loved _Mary_ more than life itself, but she was fond enough of her husband to want him to have the kind of love in his life that Sirius was offering. Plus everything about the way Sirius followed James like a faithful puppy was _adorable_. When James pulled Sirius to his feet and Sirius said he was more than all right (wrapped in James’ arms), it was all she could do not to _confundus_ them and demand “Now kiss!”

Peter, of course, broke the moment. “What’s it like?” he asked nervously.

Sirius gave a short laugh. “Um… it’s kinda hard to explain. It was… _beyond_ … just… not like anything, really. Spiritual? Yeah, maybe _spiritual_ is a good word. Moving, you know, but not in, like, any way you’ve ever known before. Freeing, and, um… I dunno. It doesn’t hurt.”

“And, um, the other part? My part?”

Sirius shrugged. “That part was nothing. You just have to want to protect the secret, and it kind of fills you up and weighs on you a bit, but you get used to it pretty quick, and then by the time the spell’s done, you don’t even feel it.”

Peter gave them a determined nod. “Okay, I’m ready.”

Lily laughed. “Well, I’m not. Give us a minute. We need to set up a power-sharing triad to tap the Llechart-Rollright line, because trapping a secret is _way_ harder than letting it go. James? Sirius?” The boys stepped forward. “Remember how the _arzătoare_ went down?” They nodded, James’ face just a shade grimmer than Sirius’. Not surprising. Sirius had known what they were getting into. James, whose family celebrated Christmas and Easter rather than the Old Ways, had been unpleasantly surprised, being thrown into the darkest part of the deep end of ritual magic. “This is kind of the opposite of that, but it needs even more power, and controlling it is going to be a bitch. I need you two to back me up.”

“The Focus Trimaguum again?” Sirius asked.

Lily hid her uncertainty and said, “The Tyrolian Variation,” with a firm nod.

“What’s that?” James asked. Sirius winced, either at his friend’s ignorance or the fact that she was suggesting they use the keystone of the continent’s most popular triadic binding ritual to raise the power they would need to tap the ley line.

“It’s like what we did last time, but with more mind-melding,” Lily explained.

“Um… okay?” James’ tone suggested he didn’t see what the big deal was. Sirius kept his mouth shut about the fact that ‘more mind-melding’ would make them essentially, for the duration of the spell, one person, which she thought was probably a good thing.

“Just go with the flow,” she advised him. “You’re good with it?” she asked Sirius.

“Yeah, but no blood runes this time. I’ll cast the merging spells if you don’t know them,” he said, only faintly condescendingly.

Peter’s eyes went wide at the mention of blood runes, obviously wondering what his friends had been getting up to when he wasn’t around. Lily snorted. She _knew_ the spells, but casting them was at the very edge of her magical strength. There _was_ a reason she used runes for almost everything, and it wasn’t because she really liked Futhark.

“Go for it. But wait until we’re set up, first. It’s disorienting having more than one body.” Before any of the Marauders could ask when she had done something like this before (long ago, with Severus, in the Room of Requirement, when he had first admitted he was a legilimens, and she had demanded to know what it was like), she said brightly, “Let’s go to the basement. Earth magic works better underground.”

* * *

Peter followed the others to the basement – hardly more than a root cellar, lit only by their flickering candles – every fiber of his being wishing that he didn’t have to do this. Was this, he wondered, how condemned prisoners felt? He wanted to keep his friends safe – he really, truly did. But he  _still_ couldn’t bring himself to tell them that he was the wrong person to keep the Potters’ secret.

Lily had asked him to come by, earlier in the week, and explained, in excruciating detail – at least as much detail as he had put into his Charms NEWT – how the Fidelius worked, and what he would have to do. They had drunk tea and talked about the soul. It was surreal.

Peter had never been close with Lily, but he didn’t _dislike_ her, like Sirius did. She and Remus had had their little study groups in the library, and she, James and Sirius had started talking ( _finally_ ) halfway through seventh year. Peter had maintained a nodding sort of acquaintanceship with her from… probably third year. He admired her from afar, of course – she was gorgeous – but James had claimed her even before that, and Peter wasn’t about to try to make a move on his best mate’s girl. Sipping tea and eating chocolate biscuits and talking about the soul was by far the longest conversation he had ever had with her, and it was probably only the overwhelming strangeness of the whole situation that had allowed him to get through it without hyperventilating at the thought of what he was signing up to attempt.

That was certainly what he felt like doing _now_.

 _Just keep telling yourself, Pete, you can do this,_ he thought, then wondered if he was crazy.

 _Probably, yes_ , he answered himself.

_Shit._

The worst part was, he _could_ do it. He had read through the spell description, desperately hoping that there was something about himself that would make him unsuitable, but he knew in his heart that he _did_ understand the secret, and that his very unwillingness to take it on meant that he _could_. He only wanted to reject it because he feared being forced to betray them. He was _not_ inherently disloyal – how could he be? He almost wished he was – that the spell wouldn’t take – though if _that_ were the case, he could have just killed Mary outright, or kidnapped her for the Dark Lord – that would have assured him safe haven with the Death Eaters, at least. But he had chosen to take on the burden, despite his misgivings, and this, he knew, with a dreadful sort of certainty, would be counted as ‘embracing’ the secret.

The three of them – Lily, James, and Sirius – stood in a triangle around him, with Lily directly in front of him. He tried not to betray his nervousness as, somewhere off to his left, behind him, Sirius incanted the charms to bind the three together as one in mind and magic. There was, he realized halfway through, something vaguely marriage-y about the whole situation, or might have been, if he hadn’t been standing in the middle of them. The awkward, incongruous observation made him want to giggle madly. He bit his tongue on making a no-doubt-inappropriate joke. Power began to tint the air with a heady perfume – fresh-cut fields under the sun and sea breeze and fresh bread – _light_ , as pure as he had ever felt it, and overwhelmingly strong.

And then the three were speaking, chanting, in Latin, all around him, and Lily’s wand was drawing intricate patterns in the air, tracing silver light in its wake. On and on it went, darkness gathering between the strands of the… net? Cage? Peter could not look away, hypnotized by the movement of the wand and the trace of light, brilliant, perfect filigree holding back what must, he realized, be ‘the secret’ that would live inside his soul.

After an endless span of time – seven repetitions of the Latin chant, he knew, from the briefing, but he couldn’t have said where one ended and the next began – there was a flash, and the ornate holes of the silver secret-trap vanished, leaving only a bubble of light, opaque, and moving slowly toward his heart.

The next part of the spell was his alone, and there were no words or wand movements, no right answer except _yes_ , I will do this thing, for these people. I will keep faith with them, and protect their secret. I can do this, and I will.

There was a terrible, too-full sensation in his chest, like _feeling_ so much that your heart might explode, and _knowing_ that _THE POTTER FAMILY RESIDES AT POTTER COTTAGE IN GODRIC’S HOLLOW_ and he could not hear or see or concentrate on anything else, until he realized suddenly that Lily was speaking again (or maybe still), finishing the spell. The magic snapped, coiling around and within him before vanishing in a way he was not entirely sure he was comfortable with.

“We beg the blessings of Choice and Order,” Lily concluded, alone, in English, and so quietly Peter almost didn’t hear her, “and the forbearance of Experience.”

The charm, he knew, did not call for such ritual phrases, and he was a Christian himself, but he knew the right words, the only response he could give – and it never hurt to pray for the assistance of Higher Powers, with a burden as heavy as this.

“So mote it be.”

He could use all the help he could get.

* * *

James rarely felt left out of anything, especially when he was with Sirius and Lily. It almost invariably happened that he agreed with or was supported by one against the other, but they were hardly ever more in tune with each other than they were with him.

He was pretty sure it was some kind of moral failing, but he liked it like that, being the center of both their little worlds, and the only place where they intersected.

The exception was when it came to Old Magic. Lily had dived head-first into the most primal magic in the wizarding world before she even knew what she was doing, and was digging up all kinds of ancient stuff from the old Potter-Peverell vault. Sirius had grown up with it, giving his due to the Dark Powers like clockwork, six times a year before Hogwarts, and at least twice a year after, and it wasn’t like he could forget the first fifteen years of his life, no matter how much he might want to. James, in contrast, had only felt the power of ritual magic a few times in his life – on the important birthdays and at his wedding, and that one horrible night back in ’79 in the Safehouse that he tried not to think about.

It always took him rather unpleasantly by surprise when Lily would say something like, “You know the runes for thus and such binding ritual?” and Sirius would (sometimes reluctantly) admit that he did, or gleefully share the details of Black Family Holiday Rituals (which were _never_ supposed to be spread outside the family, hence the glee), or be drawn into drunkenly expounding on the pros and cons of human sacrifice as compared to other methods of raising power at Mabon and Yule. There were some things you just didn’t want to know about your best mate, and one of those was that he saw his first murder at age _seven_. The reminder that James’ own mother had been a Black, too, was not a welcome one either.

He tried not to resent them for having this _one thing_ that they held more in common with each other than with him – it wasn’t like he even wanted to know more about it in the first place. But it was hard when she started talking about power-sharing and ‘mind-melding’ and Sirius knew exactly what she was on about and he didn’t, or when they sniped back and forth over runes versus merging spells, and Sirius rattled the spells off like he did this every day.

It was _also_ hard when he felt their mutual amusement in his mind as those spells took effect, as they were bound closer and closer, overwhelming his habitual Occlumency until he couldn’t say where his thoughts ended and the others’ began, though he was pretty sure it was Sirius who thought _you needn’t be jealous of  me_ and Lily who thought _it’s time, shush_. It might have been him who thought _don’t shush me inside my own head_ , but then again, that might also have been Sirius.

He knew he wasn’t the one in control of their bodies, chanting the words flowing out of the body only he usually inhabited, or moving the hand and wand that were normally just Lily’s, but he was rapidly losing sense of what it meant to be _James_ and have a _self_ with which to be _him_.

It was all very odd: seeing Peter from three angles, and each of his selves from two; hearing two different voices from three different places; speaking words he did not expect (and yet knew from hours and hours of memorization and practice). The thought occurred (probably not his own) that he oughtn’t worry – it was meant to be like this. And then there was power rushing through him, soft and warm and joyful, and he simply reveled in it, allowing the others – mostly Lily? – to do whatever it was they needed with _his_ magic while _he_ ceased to exist and focused only on riding the wave of energy that they had called from the Earth.

It ended too soon, the magic snapped, that which was needed, useful, tied up in the new Fidelius, and the rest of it dismissed, sent back to its ley line. He felt its absence keenly, though as soon as it was gone, exhaustion settled somewhere within him and knew that he would happily have let it kill him, had one of the others not sent it back. He shuddered slightly, and realized that the bonds between the three of them were fading. It was definitely he who had shuddered, and his mouth didn’t move when Lily begged the good will of the Powers (and he recognized his body and his mouth as _his_ and not _theirs_ ).

Peter said, “So mote it be,” and James let himself collapse to the ground.

“That was _intense_ ,” he moaned. “I want to sleep for a week.”

“Poor baby,” Sirius laughed, sprawling beside him on the unfinished dirt floor and tousling his hair.

Lily was giggling at them, too, the solemnity that she had held at the end of the casting gone in an instant.

“I’m with you, mate,” Peter said loyally, looking between the two loons askance and, after a moment, extending a hand to help him up.

“Good man, Pete,” he said tiredly, heaving himself to his feet again. Sirius jumped up as though he had spent the last several hours writing reports, and had boundless energy which he was desperate to _do something_ with. “What the hell is _wrong_ with you, Pads?” James couldn’t help but ask. _He_ felt like had just completed his Auror Certification Practical. Twice.

“Nothing! Nothing, nothing, nothing,” he sang, skipping happily up the stairs.

Lily sniggered, helping Peter help him to follow. “He’s power-drunk. There’s ah – a trick, you see – holding on to a bit of the power so you, um… don’t have _this_ happen. He’s clearly out of practice.”

“I heard that, Evans! I am not! You should try it sometime! Best high ever! Wheeee!”

“Powers-be-damned, irresponsible, bloody bastard,” Lily grumbled under her breath.

James smiled to himself. Padfoot deliberately antagonizing Evans; irritated Evans contemplating Padfoot’s murder: all was right with the world again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [If I could draw, I’d do a post-ritual sketch, with Sirius as Padfoot bouncing off the walls and forcing Peter to throw a ball for him, and James being all pathetically exhausted on the couch. Lily’s playing nurse with Mary on her hip. If any of you lovely people out there can draw, you should do it for me and send a copy to pseudoleigha at gmail so I can post it as a banner, or make a 'work based on this one.']


	5. Crushed (The Sudden but Inevitable Betrayal)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The conditions under which Peter betrays the Secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the only violent chapter - Death Eaters and torture ahead. I'm going to say... mildly explicit?
> 
> Trigger warning: crucios, lashing, flaying, and waterboarding. Mind rape.

Peter had been avoiding the Death Eaters since taking on the Potters’ secret. With the kind of tracking charms they had laid on him, running would be a death sentence, but he didn’t have to seek them out. He had never regularly hung about with them, but he had been avoiding them especially for almost seven weeks now.

Bellatrix had noticed.

Or one of her underlings, maybe.

Either way, it had come to the attention of the Dark Lord’s Right Hand that their (reluctant, and they knew it) spy within the Order had missed his last three check-ins. He had gotten lucky: he gave his handler, a wizard only a few years older than himself, an excuse about having some family thing that he couldn’t reasonably miss for the first one, and then before Rosier could follow up and force Peter to reschedule their meeting, he was captured in a raid and sent directly to Azkaban. It had taken five weeks before anyone had noticed Peter hadn’t been around to give his report (not that many people noticed him around most of the time). And then Selwyn had dropped by the shop to remind him discretely that he’d best not be thinking he was off the hook, and then, almost a week later he had gotten a note saying that if he did not re-appear in the Dark Lord’s Court before the Samhain Revel, the First Lieutenant would be _extremely displeased_.

 _Extremely displeased_ could mean anything from considering leaking the initial evidence that he had contracted Death Eaters to cast the binding ritual on his mother to the Aurory to dropping a discrete word in an Order member’s ear about their spy problem to a whole ranging scale of torture (for him or his mum) beginning with a muggle beating and ending with death. He waited as long as he dared, but he plucked up his courage the night before All Hallow’s Eve, as ordered.

It was difficult for Peter, who had never been Marked (not that he wanted to be – _God_ , no), to access the Court – the Dark Lord’s true Headquarters. In order to do so, he had to report to the Parliament (a wizarding gentlemen’s club) and wait for one of the ‘proper Death Eaters’ as Regulus had once called them to side-along apparate him to… he still actually had no idea where. It wasn’t enough to know what a place looked like – you had to know where it was actually located to travel there yourself, and he didn’t. If he _did_ , he would have run to Dumbledore already and bought his second chance.

On that particular night, the only Death Eater to be found was Nott, a much older wizard who made him beg for the honor of his assistance. Peter was pretty sure it was just adding insult to injury, forcing him to beg to be taken to whatever punishment awaited him for attempting to avoid his ‘duties’ as a spy. He didn’t even have any good information to offer to placate whomever questioned him. He hoped it wasn’t Bellatrix. That woman was far too free with the Cruciatus even when he _hadn’t_ fucked up.

He did it, though. Things would go far worse for him if he didn’t show up at all.

* * *

It was  _worse_ than Bellatrix.

As soon as he arrived, he had been _cruciated_ , then left in an antechamber which might as well have been a cell for hours and hours before finally being dragged before the Dark Lord and all of the assembled Death Eaters and associated hangers-on. He spotted a few less-than-willing faces in the crowd, too, who, like himself, had probably been blackmailed into providing some service or other for the Dark Court. He was obviously to be made an example of.

The Inner Circle sat (or in Bellatrix’s case, sprawled) on the second step of a long dais on twelve conjured stone chairs. The Dark Lord on his throne, one level up, made thirteen. Everyone else lined the walls, leaving an open space before the Dark Lord and his closest lieutenants: Bellatrix, on his right, and Lucius Malfoy, on his left. Fucking Snivellus sat several places down on Malfoy’s side – hadn’t James always said he was going to end up a Death Eater? And of the Inner Circle, too. _Bastard._

“Step forward, _Wormtail_ ,” the Dark Lord ordered, his voice high, cold and piercing. Peter had no way of knowing for sure how he had found out about that nickname – Peter had certainly never used it in Death Eater circles – but his money was on the greasy potions git – acting all high and mighty because he was already done with his bloody Mastery, the fucking swot.

He stepped forward, still thinking hateful thoughts in Snivellus’ general direction. It kept his mind off of other things, like the fact that he was standing before an entire room full of people who would kill him without hesitation for daring to withhold that _he_ was now the Potters’ Secret Keeper, and that he was obviously going to be punished regardless, and that he had nothing to tell them that would spare him that punishment.

He met the Dark Lord’s glowing red eyes defiantly – it was the most he dared, but the least he felt he owed to his pride, which he had once had, as a Marauder and a Gryffindor and a good son.

The snake-faced bastard smiled. “Is this how you greet your _Lord_ , Wormtail? Has your long absence from our presence allowed you to forget what is properly owed to your _betters_?”

Peter knelt at once, shuffling forward on his knees and averting his eyes. “No, my Lord, of course not, my Lord, please, sir, forgive my imperte – aaah!”

“Do restrain yourself, Bella, dear,” the Dark Lord said lightly, and the Lashing Curse that had interrupted Peter’s groveling ended abruptly.

“Apologies, Master.”

“After all, _ssh’ih,_ he may yet have something of value to reveal to us, to justify his delay in reporting as ordered.”

“Yes, Master.”

There was an ominous silence, broken by Peter’s yelp as he was hit with a stinging jinx, so juvenile in comparison to the curses generally thrown about the Court that it was akin to a sharp prod in the arm.

“That was your cue, Worm,” Bellatrix hissed. Malfoy snorted. “What have you to report to my Lord?”

“I – ah, that is, nothing, my Lady, my Lord, that is – I have only been absent because I have nothing worthy to report, my Lord.” At least, he thought, as he fell screaming beneath some sort of curse that felt like invisible flames, burning him from the inside out, he had managed to get a full sentence in that time.

“Do not _lie_ to Lord Voldemort, Wormtail,” the Dark Lord in question advised him before releasing the curse. “Tell us all what you are trying to hide – and be warned, I will _know_ if you are not truthful.”

“I – that is – um – th-the P-Potters, they have a new Secret Keeper!” That was safe – he would have had to be re-informed, if he wasn’t the Secret Keeper, after all – it gave away nothing.

Glowing red eyes bored into him. “You taste of hesitance, reluctance, and _dishonesty_ , _Wormtail_. The whole truth, or shall I have Bellatrix _extract_ it from you?”

“N-n-no, m-my Lord. There is no m-more.”

“Lies! Bella, show our friends how we deal with _traitors_ , and those who think to neglect their duties to the Dark Lord.”

Bellatrix’s smirk was a study, Peter thought, in pure _evil_. At least the Dark Lord _looked_ like a monster. “Gladly, Master.”

Wave after wave of pain – the Cruciatus, of course. He writhed and twitched beneath it – for ten seconds or two minutes, he could not have said. After the first few seconds, it was all the same. Time meant nothing. There was a brief pause, and then it returned, worse for the break, and again, and again. After the fourth spell, the Dark Lord interceded.

“Is there still _nothing_ more to report?”

“N-n-n-no m-m-m-m’lrd.”

“ _Triterum demergunt,”_ Bellatrix drawled, and suddenly Peter was drowning, water flooding his lungs, grey creeping in around the corners of his vision. As everything faded to black, it vanished. He gasped for air, trying to roll over, face down, but it didn’t help. The cycle repeated itself, and then a third time, leaving him heaving, lungs straining.

“Take this as a lesson,” the Dark Lord was announcing when Peter’s awareness of the world around him finally returned. “ _This_ is what happens to traitors. _This_ is what will become of any who seek to leave my banner. _This_ is what _happens_ to those who think _they_ can _lie_ to _me_.”

Bellatrix, at some point, had left the dais, and was standing before him in her high-heeled boots. A clawed hand reached down and pulled him to his feet relentlessly, with far more strength than he thought a woman of her stature ought to be able to manage. She plucked his wand from loose fingers like a muggle, a silent statement that he was not even worth the expenditure of magic to disarm him, nor dangerous enough to warrant it.

“What would you have me do with him, Master?”

“As his recruitment was your project, _ssh’ih_ , I give you leave to recover what information you can from his worthless carcass. Three days.” He added something more in the hissing, spitting language of snakes that only Bellatrix seemed to understand.

She gave her prisoner a demented grin. “It will be so, Master.” She bowed politely before she stalked off, half-dragging Peter behind her.

* * *

She brought him to a room with a steel table and cabinets on the walls, lashing him to the table with magic. His eyes – the only part of his body able to move – widened in horror as she began to open the cabinets, revealing an extensive collection of muggle torture devices.

“My lord informs me that _you_ have the information we require regarding the Potters. I do not have his gift for Legilimency, but I think my powers adequate to discover whether you are hiding any other useful morsels from us.” She grabbed his face, her nails digging painfully into his skin, and stared into his eyes. At once he felt a great pain behind his eyes, carving into him, ripping his memories to the surface. She could not touch the Secret itself, but she dwelt on the memories which pertained to the Fidelius and its casting, and his loyalty to the Potters. She tore the faces of those who knew the secret from him – Sirius, Remus, Dumbledore, all the remaining Order members – painting targets on their backs.

When it finally ended, he found himself crying. He had long-since soiled himself, and he wanted to heave – the only thing stopping him was his complete inability to move. He was going to die. There was no other way this would end. The worst had happened, and even sooner than he expected – he hadn’t even made it through _one_ meeting without being found out. And now the Blackheart was going to torture him to death!

That evil, awful, Black family smirk graced her features again as she made what Peter was sure would be her only offer of mercy. “Agree to give up the secret to myself and my Master, or I will spend the next three days torturing you before simply killing you and releasing it. No more games, no more plays or displays for the crowd – simply the maximum amount of pain I can inflict upon you within the next three days, or before you die or go mad. You have three seconds to decide.”

He hesitated too long.

Five minutes into a systematic comparison of the effects of a Flaying Curse on one hand and muggle methods on the other (complete with detached narration of the differences, the sick, sick bitch), he caved.

It was the only way, he told himself. If he kept the secret to the death, it would be a matter of days – maybe only _hours_ before a Death Eater tricked one of the new-made Secret Keepers into revealing the Potters, and he would still be dead. At least if he gave them up, _he_ might live.

The decision made him as sick as anything Bellatrix could have done to him.

 _May God have mercy on my soul_ , he thought, as he was brought before the Inner Circle again _, because no one else will. Not after this._


End file.
